just after rain
when the water lies hesitant and pure
on the roads and footpaths
and a few cars still have their lights on

     just after rain
when the frontyard trees sweat the last drops
from their chlorophyll brows
and the air is promise-crammed and light
and there are apparently more towers
in the distant city-centre than before

          just after rain
when the pets emerge from under houses
and overlong browsers from within shops...

               just after rain
we breathe in deeply and effortlessly
we enjoy watching where we put our feet
as we jaunt home

                    just after rain
there is no other time that is not
                                   just after rain

©2007, Ross Clark

This poem is from Clark’s 2007 volume Salt Flung into the Sky (his 7th), though it was written much earlier. Ross lives in Brisbane, Australia, where summer is a time of humidity, jacarandas, and sudden afternoon storms.

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